


Please God Tell Me I'm Dreaming

by InterestingName



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:26:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterestingName/pseuds/InterestingName
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Grantaire,” He says, gazing at him from the bottom of the steps. “How would you like to help stop the apocalypse?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please God Tell Me I'm Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> note: this was published on the 23rd of may. on the 24th, i changed stuff because i found a better written copy of it. oops!

Meeting the beautiful blonde boy outside Grantaire’s door was both the best and worst thing to ever happen to him. Great, because _damn_ , the dude’s hot and he’s only human, but worst because _a_. the hot guy’s holding a flaming sword in his hand and _b_. (not that a second reason is really needed) said flaming sword is aimed in his direction. He can feel the neighbours gawking eyes on them.

He can also feel a breeze that cools his flushed cheeks and his chest. He belatedly looks down at himself and finds himself wearing nothing but a pair of Courfeyrac’s lime green booty shorts, which show more than a little bit of his butt. The breeze on him is welcome, but surprising considering the day’s weather forecast. He looks back up at the man, not sure what to expect - maybe him holding a fan in his non-sword hand? -, only to see _giant wings_ behind the man’s back.

He opens his mouth, only to be interrupted by Blondie. “Who are _you_?” The guy asks suspiciously, squinting past him into the hallway as if a Wookie will jump out from the hall closet.

“I’m.. Grantaire?” He says slowly, raising his hands show that _he_ doesn’t have a flaming sword in his pants, unlike little ‘ol Cherub here. He laughed quietly, under his breath, at both the innuendo and the unreal situation. “I live here.”

He’s not sure why he’s not slamming the door on this figment of his imagination and going back to sleep, but it seems like the right thing to do. Plus, this dude could totally break down a door.

“Where’s Courfeyrac?” The guy asks, with slightly less apprehension in his voice. He stares Grantaire directly in the eyes, looking at Grantaire's brown eyes with his blue ones.

“He’s in the hospital with a broken leg. Drunken sexcepade gone wrong, I was told.” He smiles in remembrance, although he was not without sympathy for his friend.

“What about Marius?”

“Doesn’t the flaming sword mafia tell you anything these days? He’s got a broken arm. Drunken sexcapade. My favourite game at the moment is placing bets on what position they were in when when their various limbs were broken.” He kind of regrets saying that when the man’s face falls hard and flat, but at least this way hopefully he’ll go away, and Grantaire can go back to dreaming about various celebrities and ponies.

“Fuck.” The guy mumbles under his breath, and he seems to look Grantaire in the eye for an awfully long time. After an awkward moment of silence, he breaks it. “Hold on, let me make a call.”, he says.

He turns away, dialing a number on a phone he appeared to whip out of thin air as he walks down the steps. He holds it to his ear, and doesn’t bother with pleasantries to the person on the other end. “They’re both incapacitated. The saviour has a broken leg, and his backup a broken arm. Probably a good thing, considering Pontmercy’s skills. A pity about Courfeyrac, though. Who should I call upon?”

The person on the other end says something back to him, sounding hurried even from where Grantaire’s standing. “He’s a drunk, and we have barely any intel on him! Isn’t there someone else?” The other person snaps something, and Blondie is quiet for a few seconds. All Grantaire can see of him is his fine red coat and his blonde, curling hair from behind, but he can imagine his angry face. “Fine.” He suddenly says. He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. He turns to face Grantaire suddenly, his coat swirling around his knees.

“Grantaire,” He says, gazing at him from the bottom of the steps. “How would you like to help stop the apocalypse?”

He splutters for a moment, before regaining his sense of speech. “Haha, but no. You were cute for about three seconds, and I heard that it was bad for your psyche to die in your dreams, but this is too far.” He turns before the guy can say anything, and shuts the door behind him with a satisfying slam.

It is blissfully silent for about three seconds, before the guy appears out of thin air in his hall. This time, his wings brush the walls and knock the picture frames askew. His sword is held upright and is glowing with a red flame. “My name is Enjolras.” The seemingly _actual angel_ says. “And this is not a dream.”

This is all Grantaire hears before his vision gets dark around the edges, his head hits the back of the door, and he falls into darkness.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is unbeta'd because if i don't publish it now it will never ever get published
> 
> title plagiarised from the line in ['dreaming' by smallpools](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/smallpools/dreaming.html) \- the line is 'please god, tell me we're dreaming'
> 
> contact me on my [tumblr!](http://deadmyths.tumblr.com/) (although i reblog fandom posts on [this sideblog](http://deadbucky.tumblr.com))


End file.
